“Women are vain. Men? Never! “( Kurt Tucholsky )
Even if my days are companionless these days, I still am willing to say that dearest F. the former attender of my days, can claim for himself the title as the dearest of all former companions possible. F. has many extraordinary qualities, women are falling in love with him, the moment they see him, even if he stands a kilometer away, trying to find his car keys. Anyway,while I am nearly as blind as a snake it took me much longer. F. is as charming as amusing, lovely and loved. And many songs could be sung to his praise. But there is one thing, which makes my dearest former companion very proud, even if he would never admit it, but no one else as myself, saw F. standing in front of more than one mirror, admiring his black curls. And to state this here too, the word curly-head possibly was invented only for dear F. and his head full of magnificent black curls. The curls suited him well, even more than well thought F. and all the women agreed. The mirror agreed, too. But when I spoke on the phone with F. yesterday, nothing was left of the friendly, happy and self-confident former companion. On the other side of the receiver the spirits were as low as you may imagine.”Read On, imagine, it happened over night”, said F. after an awful long period of sad silence. But what might happen overnight in a calm street in Rehavia, Jerusalem where the cats sleep in the middle of the street? Was it possible that old neighbor G. planted weed on the rooftop instead of tomatoes? Would neighbor B., a passionate collector of chess and bridge literature being able to steal beautiful neighbor’s R. underwear on the clothes line? Was it possible that sudden, out of the blue a woman did not fall in love with dear F.? No definitely not, not in this life. And I had to confess, I was not able to imagine anything that devastating.” F. I replied, but don’t you think you heart would be lighter if you tell me the cause of your sorrows?” On the other side of the telephone, you could hear, a deep, dark, breathing. “It’s so awful, so absolutely awful , and so totally unexpected” sighs F. and for minute I am in doubt if probably the mailman opened a love letter addressed to F., but however after dear F. again sighed deeply, he told me while fighting back his tears, that when he woke up on a ordinary Monday, he did not find only one, or two, or worse enough three hairs turned grey, but a bunch of not only grey but snow-white hairs within his beloved curly tuft. And this is just the beginning, moans F. next week probably my teeth will start to hang loose, in two weeks I barely will manage to climb up the stairs, in three months my hands will shaking and in a year at the latest you will be either bold or have dyed your hair say I, before breaking out in laughter but on the other side of the phone there is only deadly silence left.